Page 36 of The Briar Bargain
Miss Bingley seemed uncertain whether to feel complimented or insulted. “How very observant of you.”
“The butter is excellent,” said Hurst, reaching for another roll.
The rest of the course passed with fewer sallies. Miss Bingley redirected her efforts to Miss Bennet, whose gentle but firm replies made for a far less combative target. Hurst spoke only of the roast. Bingley made a brave attempt at describing his plans for a ball when all the roads were restored, but was soon drowned out by his sisters’ argument over whether the parlour would benefit from blue or sage curtains.
Why they were discussing redecorating when their brother did not own the home, he had no idea, but he was not inclined to inquire.
Darcy offered an opinion when prompted, but his thoughts had largely turned elsewhere. He had not expected this dinner to entertain him. He had expected it to tax his patience, to test his promise to Miss Elizabeth, though she was more than capable of launching her own defence. Her wit was far sharper than any of theirs. But shielding her from petty jabs, and earning that fleeting gleam of gratitude in her eyes? That, he decided, was no burden at all. He would attempt to make the separation of the gentleman and the ladies this evening a short one.
At last, the final course was cleared, and Miss Bingley rose with a little tilt of her chin. “Shall we withdraw?”
The ladies stood. Miss Elizabeth, as she passed behind his chair, whispered a hasty thanks.
Darcy dipped his head in a silent reply.
When they were gone, Hurst sighed deeply and reached for the port. “Well,” he said, “that was a reasonable dinner.”
Darcy just swirled the wine in his glass. He sipped, then leaned back, letting Bingley’s chatter wash over him. His friend was now explaining something about having the remaining food sent over to the families living in the servants’ quarters before moving onto the topic of gravel. Darcy nodded when addressed, murmured agreement where necessary. But his thoughts had already strayed from the dining room.
Chapter Twelve
When the ladies withdrew after dinner, Elizabeth walked beside Jane with a lightness of step that would have been unimaginable that morning. Dinner had unfolded like a particularly entertaining play, with Mr. Darcy cast in the unexpected role of her defender and Miss Bingley relegated to the far less flattering part of the thwarted antagonist.
"You are in remarkably good spirits, Lizzy." They settled themselves near the fire. "This morning you appeared ready to walk to Longbourn, and now you look as though you might actually be enjoying yourself."
"I confess that I was, and I am," Elizabeth replied. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst took seats at the far end of the room. "It has been a most illuminating day."
"Has it indeed?" Jane's eyes sparkled with gentle curiosity. "And might this illumination have anything to do with a certain gentleman's remarkable attentiveness to your welfare?"
Elizabeth felt her cheeks heat. "Mr. Darcy has been surprisingly helpful in deflecting certain unpleasant remarks."
“He has,” her sister replied.
Elizabeth inclined her head towards their hostesses. "They seem to be plotting something."
“You are changing the subject, but I will allow it.” Jane’s smile flattened as she watched Mr. Bingley’s sisters whisper together. "Let them plot.”
The unexpected firmness in her sister’s voice surprised her a little. “Jane?”
“I have spent the day with displaced families.” Jane shook her head. “Mrs. Farrow is forever counting her six children to be sure none of them have wandered outside. Little Peter is well, but he has frightened his mother so badly that I do not believe she shall ever regain a sense of peace. Mrs. Anson is managing three young children of her own and is increasing again. But she carries on, no matter how ill she feels. Mrs. Johnson has been managing a crying infant, two homesick children, and her elderly grandmother who insists, every few hours, that she wishes to walk back to see that her cottage still survives. Against that, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst just seem . . . small."
Elizabeth was delighted at this unexpected display from her gentle sister. "Jane! Such forceful opinions. I fear I may be a poor influence."
"You are nothing of the sort," Jane replied warmly. "But these additional days at Netherfield have been instructive, Lizzy. I find my patience sorely tested by ladies who spend their time manufacturing insults and grievances when genuine hardship exists mere steps away. Little Sarah Anson has been asking every hour when she might go home to her dolly, and young Tom Johnson keeps watching the door for his father's return. Meanwhile, our hostesses complain of being trapped in a house with thirty rooms and dinners with two courses."
"I ought to have helped you more. I do apologise, it is simply that I have been so occupied with . . ." Elizabeth paused, searching for a delicate way to describe her day-long battle with Miss Bingley.
"With avoiding unnecessary conflicts, I imagine," Jane said with a knowing smile. "And regaining your strength, which I require more than your assistance just now. Mr. Bingley has been wonderfully generous. He has promised temporary lodging in the village for those who require it, once they can be certain the bridge is sound." She tipped her head and leaned in. “Peter still worries about his rabbits.”
“Those rabbits might have cost him his life,” Elizabeth replied grimly.
"And yours as well," Jane said quietly, her hand finding Elizabeth's. "When I think of what could have happened . . ."
Elizabeth shook off the dark mood. "But it did not. And I would do the same again without hesitation."
Jane’s look was both fond and exasperated. "I know you would. Which is why I am so grateful that a certain gentleman was there to ensureyoursafety."
Across the room, Miss Bingley rose from her chair with obvious purpose, her sister following suit, smiling in a manner that reminded Elizabeth of cats spotting particularly plump mice.
